Mirrors
by saffroncremebrulee
Summary: COMPLETE! "If eyes are the mirrors of the soul, then what, exactly, do soulmates see?" Collection of Peachshipping and Revolutionshipping fics inspired by perfumes, songs, and photographs. Assorted moods, themes, locations, and eras.
1. Salted Lilies

**Disclaimer** : I do not own YGO. This is a work of fanfiction.

 **Inspiration** : Vanille Galante, Sweater Weather by The Neighbourhood, black and white polaroids of late 60s California (blame tumblr!). I don't own any of those either.

...

"You smell like salted lilies."

The words were whispered, soft and fuzzy, like the matted lint balls yawning across Yugi's sweater. Tea thinks it used to be an iridescent sort of olive or puce, but now it's a faded green with spots that revealed flecks of tanned skin. A Christmas gift from Grandpa that stretched past bony hip bones just a few days ago and stretched tight across a set of well-muscled shoulders now.

 _His_ shoulders.

Broad, sprawling like the California desert underneath her feet, acres and acres of amber speckled gold rambling in the distance. Those arms were Yugi's but at the same time _not_ Yugi's _,_ as much or as little sense as that made sometimes _. This,_ whatever this was, wasn't something she signed up for at the playground in second grade. She wished for a normal life with normal friends and normal teenage hobbies then. What arrrived instead was weird and supernatural and mysterious and illogical and confusing.

(Mostly confusing with a side helping of love for the relatively normal and distinctively abnormal halves of her best friend.)

She stopped trying to understand their bond a long time ago. One was the boy she grew up with and hugged without so much as an extra swipe of mascara or lipgloss, the other was the boy/man/spirit hybrid she looked up to with as many swipes of mascara and lipgloss as she could manage without looking like a Cirque du Soleil reject. One hadn't grown into the sweater yet; the other already filled the seams until threads dug skin in webs of mystery. One initiated hugs a little too often, perhaps, given their chest to head ratio, and one rarely ever initiated physical contact until now.

She buried her face in Yami's chest as she tried not to cry. Being brave was _hard_ sometimes, especially with the kinds of adventures that liked to ambush them like errant muses on caffeine and glitter. Yugi had always faced all of them without fail, without complaint, and without foot-dragging; all she wanted was to drag him by his spiky little bangs back to Domino without fail and complaint and lock him in a safe house somewhere with padlocked windows and doors so the freaks couldn't kidnap him or remove his soul or any of that other nonsense involving trading cards.

 _Effing. Trading. Cards._

If only it was that easy.

Here they were again, in the middle of yet another one of Yugi's classic save the world moments. She wouldn't have minded the gut-wrenching fear if Yugi had been present for said occasion like he had been for all of the other ones. Worrying about what would happen to someone was one thing. Worrying about _what the hell did_ happen to someone was not a feeling she wanted an encore of ever again.

It was Yami who held her as she awkwardly flattened herself against a chest that looked and felt like a more angular version of her bestest friend in the world.

"We'll get him back, right?"

Somehow, repeating the words over and over gave her some closure. Yami remained in silent marination until he inquired about her perfume, as one does when one is in close proximity to another for a moment longer than pure friendship.

"Huh?" Confusion etched across cobalt eyes. She wonders briefly if losing Yugi meant Yami lost half of his intelligence, too, or if the sleep-deprivation from the past few days have finally caught up to him.

" _Lilies_." Sonorous vibrations tickled her cheeks. "Salted ones. Like petals floating in the Nile on a burnt autumn day."

Tea smiled weakly.

Trust _Yami_ to notice where Joey, Tristan, and Duke would all have blinked their eyelashes with confusion. Rebecca always wore some sort of fruity, floral-y concoction, too, an exuberant mixture that announced her presence from ten miles away. But even Rebecca hadn't worn anything lately, not even a splash of cologne in the middle of a flaming hot summer, not since Dr. Hawkins was kidnapped and his lab ransacked for information. The blonde was currently too worried and too busy to care about such girly luxuries. If she wasn't on the phone coordinating grid searches with Kaiba, she was actually conducting said searches while the rest of them helped, too, worry woven into their collective consciousness.

Tea wasn't sure why she reached for a bottle of perfume tonight, either. She had plenty to _do_ but no will to _do_ anything except wander outside after everyone had gone to bed. Exhaustion seeped into her bones, yet she couldn't sleep, so she brought the little golden bottle with her as she star-gazed. Hexagonal beams of light glinted on the surface, every twinkle reminding her of a very familiar pair of amethyst eyes while she cried her fears into the sand.

That was how Yami found her. The heavy glass bottle that clinked painfully against his humerus when he engulfed her in a big hug. Yugi snuck that damn bottle through customs (nearly getting caught!) after one of their Christmas press junkets in New York. Something about a childhood promise, Yugi mumbled at the time.

That was years ago.

She's still holding the bottle now because she missed _him_ , which made Yami feel worse because it was his fault that _he_ was gone and if _he_ was here then she wouldn't have to burrow her face into _their_ sweater for a whiff of _his_ cinnamon and vanilla smell.

"Lilies are _his_ favorite." Yami murmured after a long pause. "Remember how he snuck out at midnight to see your very first recital? You hugged him so tightly that he could not breathe properly for a week."

" _Oops_." She conjured a wilted giggle for his efforts, tears sliding down her face as the memory slammed into emotion. "How can I forget? Grandpa grounded him for a month. And I cried all over him and that bouquet, too."

 _Sniffle. Giggle. Sniffle._

The chest rumbled in mirth, then grief, then determination. "We'll get him back, Tea. I _promise_."

She hugged Yami tight as bits of lint dimpled her face.

 _He_ promised, too, to always be there for her. Neither of them have ever let her down and they sure as hell weren't going to start now.

 _Or ever, for that matter._

...

Feedback? This bashed me over the head and didn't let go until I wrote it down...


	2. Game, Set, Match

**_Game, Set, Match_**

-for the lovely Silver, who provided the tumblr prompt: Revolutionshipping #8 "Wanna bet?"

 **Inspiration** : Ambre Narguile, Everytime We Touch by Cascada, dreamy photos of Cairo at dusk. Not mine.

Disclaimer: Do not own YGO either.

Some language and adult suggestions

...

"Can't handle the heat, can you, Anzu?"

Challenged blazed through amethyst eyes. The smirk...oh Ra, _that_ smirk was dangerous, lilting layers of wonderment and precociousness. They promised something mind-bending and wonderful, and, for an idyllic second, Anzu is tempted to kiss the arrogance from his mouth.

Now _that_ could be very, very promising, indeed...

Then her mind registered the dare in Atem's voice.

 _Hmph. Just._ **Goading** her to try, was he?

 _All right_. Anzu Mazaki doesn't back down from a challenge. Anzu Mazaki _is_ the challenge, if Mr. King of Games High and Mighty Pharaoh With THE Pokerface can handle it. Mascaraed eyelashes flicked in his general, still-smirking direction. A speck of something- to brief to pin down as lust? love? both?- dashed across Atem's face.

Hers set with a deliberate splash of wine-smeared gloss.

 _Poor, poor man._ He actually thinks he has a chance.

''Wanna bet?'' Anzu licked her lips. Slowly, deliberately, with a little more than vanity in mind. The fruit and chili kabob in his hands didn't _look_ dangerous, but then again, Atem didn't look very dangerous at the nightclub, either, until he abruptly divested the man-child who grinded a _little_ (ok, a lot, but if anyone asked Anzu was too blinded by the pulsing lights to see anything) too close to her behind of four front tooth.

She blinked at the ensuing gap.

Finished the drink.

Then grabbed Atem's still pulsing hand and _ran,_ away from the crowd of gaping people gathered around the crumpled figure, black leather jacket and glittery miniskirt weaving through the streets, finally stopping in front of an unfortunate street vendor who was calmly grilling food one second and mysteriously _gone_ the next, as soon as Atem fixed an unblinking glare upon the poor man's open-mouthed appreciation of her legs.

Cairo's late night fine dining menu remained. Candied dates sizzled above volcanic coals. Lamb and chili kabobs fizzled, grease popping. Atem studied the carnage and purred. He picked up two skewers. Apples, chilis, plums, dates threaded like he'd always been some gourmet chef instead of merely observant. For someone who's never had to cook, he worked the grill like a pro, tossing mists of herbs while flipping them. Two minutes this side, one the other. A drizzle of honey, a flourish, and a _challenge._

 _(For later.)_

The first skewer disappeared behind a wall of gleaming teeth.

The second waited.

Anzu eyed it dubiously. Who knew he could _cook_? Scratch that. More like magic, the way his hands moved over the plumes of smoke rising from bottom of the makeshift oil-drum stove. Whatever the burnt splatters were, they probably wasn't safe for human consumption, but, _oh_ , his eyes.

Shiny, glinting, alternately light and dark like flames simmering into purple, hazy oblivion...

She took the skewer. shifting its weight, marveling at the way his eyes tracked her touch. Fruits slid, colors reflecting in her periphery. Sienna like the dusky breeze ruffling through his hair, red like the chili peppers squished in between, crimson like the flush of her cheeks now.

Anzu bit down. _Yum_. Flecks of cinnamon and cardamon blazed across the roof of her mouth, hot, molten, _promising_. Faint, rum-like notes of molasses and smoke swirled at the base of her spine. Sinuous, undulating, spicy, sweet, like Atem, whose irises _burned_.

He swallowed.

 _"You. Home._ _ **NOW**_ _."_

This time it wasn't a flicker. That gaze made her wild, primal, sinuous with desire- feral and strong, need pulsing in a song only he composed. Thrills reverberated across skin. Now _that_ was a rhythm they could dance to.

Anzu grinned.

"Can't handle the heat, can you, Atem?"

...

Please review?


	3. Twins

Thanks to Silver for the prompt: 50. Peachshipping. Let your imagination run wild.

 **Inspiration** : Rose Ikebana, the unplugged acoustic version of Listen to Your Heart by D.H.T., aerial shots of NYC and the new designs for Yugi. Do not own any of the above.

 **Disclaimer** : Do not own YGO, either.

 _for babe, always_

...

Yugi looked smaller than usual from the coffee-stained windows of the 747, bangs hovering, emotions wavering, tears threatening. Tristan and Joey cradled him, one on each side like faithful lancelots on an old-fashioned adventure quest. Tristan rose, tall and strong, murmuring platitudes, surely, about how New York was only a day's flight away and how Joey could always duel Kaiba's blue eyes jet into submission if Yugi really, desperately wanted to be halfway around the world in a few hours instead of the usual twelve. At that, Joey swaggered; on cue, Serenity and Mai rolled their eyes simultaneously. Even from the very back of plane Tea could see their mouths moving as they waved good-bye. Something like, " _Don't worry,_ hun, we'll take good care of our boys."

(You just dance like your heart isn't breaking into pieces at the end of the runway, Tea guessed.)

 _ **Our**_ _boys._

Men now, especially Yugi, whose face grew more and more angular each day, settling into lines she came to know so well in the past few years. The confident tilt of the jaw. The slight curl on his right lip. The tiny, almost imperceptible caress of "-Ah" at the end of her name. _Tay-Ah_ with a Capital A, the last syllable careening somewhere between wonderment and amazement before crashing somewhere neither of them admitted yet.

 _Yug-eeee_ , Tea would reply, letting the last vowels of his name dance across her tongue. _Yugi_. The boy who was no longer a boy but a man who inherited all that was good about _him_ and then some. The best-est friend she ever made through Gameboys and card games and lipgloss and glitter sticks. The face she awoke to every morning and fell asleep to every night as well as every dream in between, snagged like tufts of cotton on branches in the woods where they used to play hide-and-seek (well, mostly hiding) from the bullies as children.

The game continued, except this time, she would miss Joey and Tristan, too. Those... _knuckleheads..._ had their moments, though she would rather admit Kaiba was somewhat good-looking in an antithetical Gothic hero kind of way than admit they were right about Yugi, even under duress. The wonder duo had already figured out how she felt (was she really that _obvious_? Or is Yugi really that _dense_?) yet, even they had enough sense to leave it alone. Seto didn't, but, then again, Seto was in a league of his own when it came to everything except DDR and Duel Monsters. Yet another reason why she and Yugi were meant to be, according to Mokuba.

Tea just sighed. Timing, timing, _timing_. Never quite right and never quite, wrong, either. The feelings ambushed her sometimes, the way Yugi leaned over his history books (Ancient Egypt, what else?) with that adorable burrow in his forehead or talked a little too fast about New York City or binge-chewed her strawberry rhubarb with droplets of juice dribbling down his chin. She's always been tempted to say something. Anything. The words are always on the tip of the tongue, rolling around like marbles into a drain except that it was always _too_ something. Too soon, too much, too shy, too few, too something or the other every every _damn_ time.

Once, she bit her lips so hard it bruised for several days afterwards. Yugi inquired in his sweetly ignorant way if she was OK and she just...chickened out, like always.

That didn't explain her unexpected burst of courage two minutes ago. One moment they were standing by her pastel-colored suitcases, about to be separated by an ocean, and a moment later they were together, connected at the lips and less half a heart each. Blindly, passionately consuming each other, all the pent-up feelings they had been funneling as friendship bursting into flames by the tail of a 747.

It felt so right and good that she wondered why the _hell_ they didn't do this earlier and why the _hell_ she needed to leave now. _**Forget**_ New York for a minute. She'd be perfectly happy here, in his arms, tangled in his jacket, breath mingling, hearts syncopating as one.

Yugi pushed her towards the front of the plane, tears simmering.

" _Go_. I'm always with you, _Tay-Ah_." There was something different about the curl of his lips now, the sudden warmth infusing her name, as if the soon-to-be ocean in between was a mere inconvenience instead of a catastrophic barrier to more kisses, more hugs, more caresses.

So Tea reluctantly jostled her way to the window seat nearest the terminal. Everyone else disappeared as soon as she and Yugi lunged for each other. (There may have been a whoop or two from Joey, followed by a loud _Oomph_ , probably from Mai, but Tea wasn't prepared to swear to anything except mental fireworks). Then Tristan had the _bright_ idea of (mis)appropriating a "lost" luggage cart so they could all be on the runway to wave good-bye. The contraption didn't look large enough to contain most of Yugi's bangs, let alone four sets of limbs, but they made it anyway, almost to the nose of the plane before security raised a bushy eyebrow.

That was the funny thing about being Seto Kaiba's unacknowledged friends- the ability to sneak onto the runway with a pineapple head, brownie mullets, and Mai's impressively high stiletto boots jutting from the top of an miniature crate. Serenity recounted later that Tristan received an earful for wandering eyes, which is why Joey wheeled him out on an airport-issue baggage dolly, but Tristan always maintained it was just an accidental graze of skin to iris...

Tea tracked their movements until they blurred into the grounds below, fragments of a once-whole heart waving even though they couldn't see her anymore, either.

At the very last second, just as the plane melted into the brushstrokes in the horizon, she caught sight of _his_ face in the coffee-stained window.

(Or maybe it was just Yugi's face, blurred by tears?)

Her lips tingled.

She loved that face. They were _one_. Different names, different times, different destinies. Perhaps she kissed Atem once, when she, too, had a different name, in a different time, in a shared, soul-mate kind of destiny that only came back to her in fragments of memories.

 _Tay-Ah._

A face very much like her own whispered in the dream that followed...a lullaby, a song, a chant that wrapped instinctively around the part of the subconscious that still believed in miracles and happy endings even as as an almost twenty-something careening towards bright lights and casting calls and broken callouses. It was older, angular, with a confident tilt, a slight compression of the right lip, and a knowing smile.

 _(Temmy?)_

 _No. Not Temmy._

 _ **This**_ _was Yugi. And he was all she needed in this life, this destiny, this love._

Halfway around the world wasn't so far when their hearts beat as one.

 _..._

Feedback? Pretty please?


	4. Pas de Deux

**Pas de Deux**

For Silver's prompt: 4. Revolutionshipping. "Do you...I mean...well...I could give you a massage?"

 **Inspiration** : Paprika Brasil, Don Henley's Boys of Summer, and photos of sweltering summer days and crisp autumn nights at Central Park. And pink, fuzzy legwarmers. Do not own.

 **Disclaimer** : Do not own YGO either.

...

Atem _hated_ summer.

More specifically, he hated the _heat_.

Well, not the heat, necessarily. He was, after all, the supreme ruler of an equatorial nation in a past life, baked by sun and tradition.

 _No_ , what he hated was the sweltering _New York City heat_ , a travesty much more endemic than the dry Saharan swell of burnt sand.

Specifically, he hated what Anzu wore in the humid, oppressive atmosphere that crushed moisture like a steamroller on caffeine. He didn't mind the pretty crowns that Anzu wove from the flowers they bought from the Sunday Farmer's Markets. What he did mind were the itty-bitty shrunken shorts and crop tops that went with them when the temperature swelled above a hundred. Or- worse- that miserable excuse of a dance leotard masquerading as exercise gear that she wore while bending in practically inhuman forms.

It wasn't even the leotard, really. It was the way people _stared_ when she twirled and spun, blush pink ribbons fluttering in the breeze. He quite appreciated the way the waning dusk hit her form just so, the sparkle in her eyes swirling, especially when he leaned in to steal a kiss between pirouttes. Or five, or twenty, before she playfully swatted his arm and returned to using his shoulder as a human barre.

What Atem minded especially was the way tourists gaped and _took pictures_. _**Ooooh!**_ They would always gasp, not quite bothering to dim their awe. It's _Anzu Mazak_ i, _**the**_ principal ballerina! Practicing in Central Park!

 _ **Must. Blog. Immediately**_. was the next logical step. _Evidently_.

Anzu didn't mind at all. She was too lost in choreography to notice the throng of gaping people throttling what used to be lonely evening practices outdoors, away from the glare of studio lights, basked in the natural glow of fall leaves and Atem's loving, if somewhat possessive gaze. The adoring fans, however, had no idea who the boyfriend even was, let alone what duel monsters were. Atem the stretching partner/purse carrier had been cropped out of so many blogposts that the only evidence he existed was the occasional spike of hair in the background, and even then he was often upstaged by squirrels with excellent photobombing skills.

Atem didn't mind the relative anonymity, either. Refreshing, really, to be known as Anzu's practice partner instead of the more regal, if somewhat vague, King of Games.

Then a video of the _**one**_ _time_ he tripped while attempting a _pas de deux_ hit the blogosphere, inspiring overly enthusiastic ballet fans everywhere to mob their corner game shop like Kaiba Corp was going out of business. ( **Spoiler** : it definitely wasn't, not by the way stock options skyrocketed after said fans discovered _duel discs._ Atem received a very enthusiastic phone call from Mokuba after the videos went viral, though it did take several minutes for Mokuba to explain that Atem did not, in fact, require vaccinations against the Internet obsessed.)

As for the video, well, whatever Anzu said, it was definitely _not_ easy to spot another person several hours after eating. Or ever, for that matter. Tracking the ribbons around Anzu's waist was dizzying enough. Add to that the leaves blending into orange-y swirls of red and yellow, plus the psychedelically hypnotic sidewalk below. Small wonder Atem tripped on a particularly concave point and launched himself into Internet stardom via the neighboring pond.

When he finally extricated himself from the school of goldfish, Anzu had collapsed on the ground, shrunken into bundle of giggles and snorts. Atem tried- and _failed_ \- to glare. Then gave up at the reflection in her eyes.

He looked utterly ridiculous, hair inexplicably still jutting in every direction under the sun, clad in one of Joey's old work-out shirts, Yugi's old gym shorts, and Anzu's only pair of large-ish legwarmers. (In hot pink, no less, to match her leotard.)

Atem tried and failed to think of a witty retort. Instead, all he could manage was gaping, at the way the autumnal light framed Anzu's giggles, the way the goldfish fins tackled his forehead, and the way _those_ eyes crinkled made him want to fall more often, just _because_...

Finally, the fish succeeded in its quest to extricate itself from its tri-colored prison, landing in the pond with a triumphant _splash,_ silver scales torpedoing Atem's leg in protest. At that, Anzu wheezed for several more minutes, still hunched over, peals of giggles reverberating from tree to tree. The sound etched itself into his brain, rippling with the water as she jumped in, the shockwaves sending Atem headfirst into the water again.

When he surfaced a minute later, her eyes were still crinkled, this time accompanied by delicate fingers on his sore shoulder.

"Do you...er...I mean...well...I could give you a massage...if you don't mind the headlines?"

...

Feedback? Please?


	5. Momentos

**Momento**

 **Inspiration** : Brin de Reglisse, photos of Times Square in the early morning hours, and tiny, delicate collarbone tattoos, all to the tune of Halsey's Ghosts. Not mine.

 **Disclaimer** : do not own YGO.

Someone's done the Yugi hates mirrors trope already, so that's not original. Not sure if anyone's dragged holiday display windows through the mud like I'm going to, though...

...

Yugi's gone _again._

He's always gone this time of the night, wandering through the throng of lights below, searching for _him_.

It's a diaphanous quest, one he'll never complete, and yet he tries anyway, no matter how many times I find him crumpled by our cat-shaped Welcome Mat in the morning, shriveled, drunk, and disappointed.

We don't need mirrors, he slurs as he stumbles in our tiny kitchenette while pounding back discount coffee, careful to turn the rusted side of the stainless steel cup towards his face and the shiny side towards mine. _You're_ beautiful, Tea, he mumbles. No amount of reflections are going to help mine, he whispers. _I'm_ here. He's _not_. My hair does what it wants, just like _him_.

Him.

Atem.

 _Atem's_ the reason Yugi avoids the saccharine-dripped display windows when we're walking down 34th. The cheery holiday mannequins don't catch his eye anymore. Too much commercialism, his lips say. No one actually _needs_ thousand dollar boots. We sure as hell don't on our broke as hell diet of instant noodles and broken dreams.

There's more to it than the sheer commercialism, though.

Yugi's heart says he's lying. He's not actually seeing the neon-colored puffers in the window. He sees _Atem_ , he with the face just a little more angular, eyes a bit narrower, shoulders a bit broader, voice a smidge smokier, dry heat like roasted lavender hung with a leather-clad dueling glove above a murmuring flame. Eyes steely, determined, sharp like a thorn slicing through the cheap imitation butter in our empty fridge.

Yugi's eyes are never dry, though. They're always a little bit moist, like a waxy moonlit sprawl through the city after the rain. Purple with flecks of blue, gray, and red, lit from the inside with eternal longing.

For _Atem_.

Who is never, ever coming back to us. The Pharaoh who _was_. The ideal that _was_. The person they both could have been, encouraging the other to become the best version of themselves. All of the visions dotting Yugi's landscape. Shifting, twisting. Always out of reach, just a little bit too far from the mortal hands holding mine as we avoid the throng of Christmas shoppers.

I miss him too, but not as much as I miss the old (young, really) Yugi. The one that actually laughed when the first blush of snow descended upon Domino in flurries and gales. The one who raced me to McDonalds despite being at least a foot shorter for their annual Christmas Turkey Burgers which were really a hodgepodge of lentils and cranberries and stuffing mixed with Ra knows what else. Holiday KFC is the normal tradition, apparently, but Yugi grew up watching dubbed movies with me and Grandpa so he's always associated Christmas with Macy's and balloons and holiday display windows.

Or at least he used to.

Now he just _mopes_.

I thought moving away from Domino would help. You know, being removed, at least physically, from Kaiba's twelve hundred million Battle City Re-runs on the Card Game Channel.

But _no_.

That doesn't help at all. Yugi sees Atem everywhere he goes. The Statue of Liberty? Cairo in all of her regal glory. Manhattanhenge? Cotton-candy sunrises over the Nile. Thanksgiving Day Parade? The actual parade of people that jostled their way to Atem's side after the Ceremonial Duel.

(Don't even get me started on reflexive surfaces.)

Wherever we go, it's always _**Ooh**_ _! Atem would have liked this! o_ r _**Aah**_ _! I wonder if Atem would have liked this_ as we're strolling down the 5th, avoiding tourist traps, or waltzing through the Met. Yugi just parks himself in front of the ancient Egypt and Mesopotamian exhibit and just does not _leave_. Security had to escort him out once, when the Tablet of Memories made its worldwide tour to New York City.

 _Yuge_ , I coo, we've seen the damn tablet at least thirty times already. Please let it _go_. You have a life to live. Joey. Tristan. Mai. Serenity. _Hell_ , even Duke's here with all his Dungeon Dice Monsters tournament.

You've got _**me**_ _,_ Yugi _._

He just _stares_.

Apparently I don't understand how the only reflection he can bare to see is the one on the security glass over that damn tablet. How he feels like he left the best part of himself go into the afterlife four years ago, because he's wanted to be _Atem_ more than _Atem_ wanted to be Atem.

But, Oh, _Ra_ , I _do_ understand. I understand better than anyone else what it's like to miss someone, to love someone, to long for someone who's not 100% with you. They're off in some wonderland where they're searching for themselves in places they're never going to find them, at least not on this plane.

Doesn't stop Yugi from trying, though. I had to drag him back from Millennium Tattoos last night. He got a cartouche above his heart with Atem's name.

I have one, too.

With a face.

 _Yugi's_.

...

Feedback? Please?


	6. Timber

**Timber**

 **Inspiration** : Santal Massoia, Touch by Troye Sivan (not to worry, Bon Jovi is making a comeback in another story), and flames, especially where the fire burns to its white hot, blue-red, purple-yellow. Not mine.

 **Disclaimer** : Do not own YGO.

Please do **NOT** light your drinks on fire at home.

For Choco, who requested Revolutionshipping, mid-series, vamp-y Anzu, and "all kinds of drunk." Here we have the mope-y, happy, melancholy, funny, fuzzy, dizzy, and pseudo-ey kind of drunk.

...

Tea had a dusting of freckles across her chin.

That was the _first_ thing Atem noticed.

The _second_ thing he noted was that, for some strange, inexplicable reason, he hadn't noticed those gold-speckled dots before. Probably because he hadn't so blatantly _stared_ before, at least, not directly and definitely not longer than for a few hours at a time. Sure, Yugi snuck in glances when she wasn't looking, but that was different. Those were just looks, little peeks at how one eyebrow arched higher than the other when deep in thought, the slightly burgundy tinge of cheeks when Joey told dirty jokes, and the wine-stained dents where teeth settled while drinking.

 _Drinking_.

Mixing, pouring, chugging, and blending alcohol, because the _third_ thing Atem noticed was that she was surprisingly adept at juggling bottles, tumblers, and lighters. The flames above the latest shot glass creations danced on the granite countertop. Long and sleek, waves of light rippling on the expansive shelf of liquors on the wall. Trust Kaiba to have a fully stocked liquor cabinet for drinks at 30,000 feet, and, _of course_ the girl full of surprises would know how to mix, shake, and stir better than the boy who curated the best scotch collection west of the British Isles.

Atem wasn't sure how he ended up here. Not _here_ here, by the bar. That was easy. Joey getting gutted by Marik this morning explained _that_. What was hard was why Atem was _here_ here as in, slinging back drinks while nursing a bruised hand instead of in the hospital ward in Joey's place.

It should have been _him_ and only him.

Not _Yugi_ , who was just a nice boy who solved some age-old artifact, not knowing it would change his life forever. Not _Joey_ , who was just another nice boy who wanted to play card games in peace. Now Yugi's nursing a broken heart in his soul room while Joey's heart might actually be physiologically broken with a comatose mind, wrapped in some clinically white contraption of sheets with wires and tubes clinging to every exposed surface. Monitors beeping in a shrill dirge. Scrubs scurrying from side to side, barking orders like "10 CC Epi! Stat!" and "Intubate in three! Two! Intubating no-"

 _Damn_. _It. All._

 _Here_ wasn't where Atem wanted to be at all. Damn saving the world. He just wanted to be as drunk as possible. Removed from everything. Just for a bit. Somewhere over the rainbow where things actually worked out and people didn't get hurt from playing effing card games. Teenagers can just be teenagers _there_. Yugi and Joey can live the boring, mundane lives they were meant to live _there_. They'd flirt awkwardly with Tea and Mai, maybe even go on a few dates, then perhaps even settle down and fight about stupid things like who forgot to feed the dog and who left the recycling bin roasting in the sun _there_.

Yugi might still get that chance...if Marik lost tomorrow.

Joey might not ever get the chance.

 _There_.

Not _here_.

They deserved to be _there_.

They're not _there_ because he's _here._

Wth that, Atem threw back another shot, feeling the sting of alcohol burning somewhere close enough to a broken heart. Tea was really a good bartender, he thought in his drunken stupor. That was the _fourth_ or maybe even _fifth_ thing he hadn't noticed before. Nothing was said after gently prying his bruised fingers away from a bottle of booze couldn't be opened with swollen eyes as well as fingers.

She opened the heavy glass hexagon with a lopsided smile, took it behind the bar, and pushed shot after shot in his direction. Atem didn't ask what they were; Tea didn't explain. All she did was light them on fire before sliding them down a granite runway. Together, they watched the alcohol burn. Slow, steady, orange tumbling into red, veering into blue, crashing into white-gold flashes of smoke. Atem let the glass burn his fingers just a little bit, guzzling like a thirsty man lost in a cobalt paradise when the liquid cooled.

What _thing_ was this? The _eighth_? The _tenth_?

Atem didn't know anymore. Didn't care, didn't really want to know anymore, either. Tea looked _gorgeous._ Illuminated by...drunkenness or love or whatever the hell the sudden infusion of warmth near the heart happened to be. Words spilled.

 _"Do you feel like I belong here, Tea?"_

The question _felt_ stupid. _He_ felt stupid. _Of course_ he didn't belong. Why the **hell** would he belong in a body that wasn't his, a time that wasn't his, emotions that weren't his?

Or...were they?

There was a fuzzy tingle in Yugi's heart whenever Tea was around, like the faint jingle of an ice cream truck on a hot summer's day or a silver-y jingle of bells at Christmas time. The feeling inside his heart now...that was just leftover from Yugi's sulking, right? There was no way he would belong _here_ , with someone who was so vibrantly alive that the burgundy-colored wine appeared to dim under her smile.

And then fingertips reached out. An impulsive yet tentative touch of skin to skin, lip to lip, cheek to cheek, heart to heart. Silky chestnut to mussed red-black-blonde, syrup to soda, strained through a tumbler of agave and coconut. Sweet. Fig-like. Raisin-coated cinnamon toasted over sandalwood planks, the taste caressing his lungs.

"Of course you belong _here_ , silly. With us. With _me_."

The words curled. Soft. Steady. Heady, too, with a touch that intoxicated as much as the fingers curling around bangs. Suddenly the lightheadedness of downing flaming shots felt heavy. Leaden, almost. Whatever he thought being drunk felt like, this, right _here_ , wasn't it.

 _Here_ was a different kind of drunk altogether.

...

Tea grinned against his chest, a dabble of freckles shining the light. A sliver of a smile curled.

 _Good thing Yugi has no idea Pepsi is just flammable, not alcoholic._

 _He's got a duel to win tomorrow._

 _..._

 _Feedback?_


	7. Sentiment

**Sentiment**

 **Inspiration** : Osmanthe Yunnan by Hermes, Stay Awhile by She & Him, sunset teas on mountaintops drenched in gold and orange. Not mine.

 **Disclaimer** : YGO isn't mine, either.

 _Salted Lilies_ and _Twins_ verse, if you squint.

for the lovely Startistica, who strong-armed me into learning how to make photosets and other procrastination-induced adventures

many thanks to Duelistsheiress for edits! You are amazing!

...

 _"_ Again, Yami! _Hold still, please."_

Yami shrugged, a little exasperated, a little amused, most of all affectionately exasperated at the impromptu photocall that began at dawn and sprawled until now. The moment stretched long and lean in the setting sun. Shoulders straightened. Eyes stared, really _stared_ , at the strange piece of machinery in Anzu's hands making the _click-clack_ of ink grinding against paper. The square-ish beam light flashed whenever Anzu pressed the large round button on top. It hadn't done that earlier, but it was dusk now and even the camera seemed note the sentimentality of the moment.

For he would have to _g_ -

 _No-_

He didn't.

 _Not yet._

Their worlds were one for a little while longer.

Now Anzu wasn't usually prone to bouts of sentimentality. That was more...Joey and Tristan's territory, however much they pretended it wasn't. At Yugi's behest, they all dealt with the upcoming trip to Egypt by avoiding it as much as possible. Anzu was the sole exception. She was very practical about it all. By the time Joey and Tristan managed to pack their suitcases, the plane tickets, hotel rooms, and on-ground itineraries had already been prepared. The whole endeavor read more romantic African safari than rite of passage, but not even Anzu referred to it as such.

Yami managed to squish _The Topic_ into the edges of his memory before the next _click-clack_. Surprising, how easily the thought vaporized, only to reform again and again when Anzu shifted towards with what looked like a touch of evening dew in her eyes.

A few months ago, when the leaves in the valley below were a lush olive, Yami would have never skimped on the Saturday morning rush of professional duelists and fangirls at the Game Shop. Days like today were for time spent with Grandpa wiping countertops and breaking down boxes and organizing shelves. Joey and Tristan would linger, too, a little long over the latest cards and jostling for the better view of the cross-legged girls on the second floor. Anzu would always be in the center, curled up with some heavy tome of English while giggling with Serenity and Mai.

Weekends were routine as well as intimate. Their easy familiarity provided Yami comfort, but Yugi made different plans today for a "sightseeing" not-quite-a-date...sightseeing date. The sight was either Anzu in her climbing gear or Anzu in her climbing gear, framed by the orange and gold of the setting sun atop the mountain, both of which Yami appreciated as the evening chill crept in.

Conveniently, Yugi disappeared as soon as the climbing began this morning. Surprisingly, Joey and Tristan both seemed to have injured themselves at various points during the trip (again, very conveniently, with Mai and Serenity in tow). That just left Yami and Anzu to reach the faded red gazebo around noon. Yugi made a brief and ecstatic appearance when Anzu produced the polaroid camera to commemorate the moment.

She _kept_ that rusted old thing?

Anzu laughed. A tinkling sound, one that Yami hadn't heard yet that day. He laughed as well. She did more than _keep_ the damn thing. It had been polished, too, lovingly, with a dainty handkerchief embossed with an imprint of the New York City skyline. Yami held the silk, it looked and smelled like fall, with the crunch of autumn-tinged foliage and the creak of burnt leaves every time she turned on the mountaintop.

But...if this was _her_ day, as Yugi so desperately wanted it to be, why did it feel as it it was...

 _Their day_ , Anzu corrected.

The words that Yami was going to say tumbled over the edges of his memory, too.

 _Squeeeeeeaaaaak_.

Bits of paper eked out of the bottom of the camera. Anzu grasped them between her forefingers and shook them gently, taking care not to let the colors run. Yami shifted instinctively, as if to catch the falling pigments, and, suddenly, Anzu tripped, landing in Yugi's puce colored sweater with a _thump_. The camera- unceremoniously squashed- _click-clacked_ in protest.

Grins mixed and melted together. _Once, twice, three_ times. _This_ was the kind of expression he and Yugi reserved for Grandpa's world-famous chocolate chip muffins, Joey's various practical jokes on Tristan (all of which involved a reluctant if highly amused Serenity), and Anzu doing well... _whatever_. Studying, dueling, laughing- especially laughing- _that_ kind of smile that stretched muscles to their maximum outward trajectory, reaching for the girl in front of them.

Later, when they disentangled the camera to rescue the polaroids eeked out of the bottom, he held her still. The photos developed slowly in their hands. All three photos were bleary speckles. The first was obviously Yami, all angular, tense, wry anticipation and suspended movement, half in the frame, out of out of the frame, arms around Anzu but turning, half-marching towards something in the distance. The second was all Yugi, open, relaxed, centered between the sunset and forest, embracing a girl whose head fit the crook of his shoulder just _so_. The last one was Anzu's profile, face tilted towards Yugi's and the sky above in with a waxy sheen in her eyes, with the look she reserved for perfectly broken in pointe shoes and _aibou_.

" _Again, Anzu_. _Again_."

...

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	8. Bows

**Bows**

 **Inspiration** : Vetiver Tonka by Hermes, Riptide by Vance Joy, photos of NYC dusted by snow. Do not own any of the above or YGO.

Post _Twins_ \- verse

 _For Silver, the best co-Secret Santa host of all!_

Merry (Belated) Christmas and happy new year to all, especially Choco, Duelist, and Star! Y'all are the bestest friends a dork like me could ever ask for...and then some!

...

Light filters through the sliver of the open window. The studio is wide, expansive, at least three or four times the size of the practice room at Domino High, maybe even more. Hard to tell exactly how much wider from the sidewalk vantage point, but Yugi tries to make out as many details as possible anyway. The floors are matte yet dull, flattened, no doubt, by the rhythmic repetition of pointe against wood, beat by beat. Mirrors line the walls in alternating currents of silver and white. The barres, usually filled with stretching and chattering dancers during the day, are empty now save the high one on the far right. A lone form moved there; barely a ripple of light that his heart recognized before his brain. There was no mistaking the slight twitch of the ankle, the minuet of arms, all moving to the tune of cheery electro pop emanating from the faded laptop in the corner.

Yugi smiles and the sentiment stretches all the way across his cheeks, just like the way he was smiling in the picture that was on the home screen of Anzu's computer, the kind of smile that pull the muscles side to side until ears and bangs wiggled. She had jokingly made everyone wear bows for their "friendship selfie-" whatever selfies were- blue for Joey, green for Tristan, gold for Mai, red for Serenity, pink for herself, and a rather alarming shade of purple for him.

 _Typical Anzu._ He thought at the time.

The near obsession with bows started when they were young. First it was pieces of twine wrapped awkwardly around homemade macaroni necklaces. Those grew to be silky ribbons wrapped around steamed cakes and buns that she made in Grandpa's makeshift kitchen atop the Game Shop. Those became long, satin-y whorls of laces around heels that fluttered around and around the practice studios near the Game Shop. Now it was a neatly folded pile of fabric that could only be a blush sweater and pleated skirts tied into a bow of white tights and black boots.

Yugi tried to learn how to make bows more than once.

He really did. That was _hard,_ much harder than learning to duel, even though wrapping two pieces of slippery fabric around each other like a pair of best friends or soulmates or other such shouldn't have been too hard for something so seemingly- well, _silly_ wasn't the right word, but words were never his _thing_ \- romantic notions he always attributed to Anzu but never voiced. That, too, was harder than it sounded, trying to keep the words from flooding the spaces in between. If he ever started he wouldn't ever be able to stop, and so he never did start, not even after the plane carrying half his heart melted into the horizon.

"You _gotta_ go to her, Yugi."

That was Joey, all big brotherly with an overly stiff countenance about anything and everything emotional.

"Yeah! _Duuuuude_ , you _gotta_ get a ticket on the next flight."

That was Tristan, calming and slightly bruised because big brother _very_ enthusiastically broke up a slightly too long hug with Serenity.

"What are you waiting for, hun? _Kaiba_ to ask her out first?"

That was Mai, ever practical and still not bothering to dress up the truth.

At that, Joey gathered everyone into a friendship huddle (with himself conveniently between Tristan and Serenity and Mai to his right).

"You _should_ tell her how you feel, Yugi. It's not like she doesn't feel the same."

That was Serenity, the most soft-spoken and practical of them all.

They were all right, of course.

Anzu _did_ feel the same. Mere minutes ago she dropped her suitcase (unfortunately on his toe, but honestly Yugi probably would have missed a stampede of shrieking elephants at that point) and kissed him long and hard, so hard that he forgot all about what toes were altogether until someone (probably Mai) had the good sense to rectify the situation. Yugi doesn't remember much after the dropping of the suitcase, just the slightly hazy sensation of floating from cloud to cloud despite limping rather badly to the runway and back.

Later, with a plastic cup of ice that Joey "borrowed" from a concession stand, Yugi contemplated the magic that is Anzu. Feeling the same. About _him_ , Yugi Motou, childhood nerd, best friend, and newly crowned klutz extraordinaire and completely, madly, in love fool who couldn't believe his luck.

How could she? Did she? _When?_

And, the most important one-

 _How come I've never noticed before?_

The truth was that she always felt that way. He's just never really believed it or believed in himself enough to think it was true. He's always thought he was too...lacking in some way. Too short, too dorky, too shy, too something or the other. She was always _too_ something, _too_ , well, anything. Not in any way that was good news for him. Too tall, too smart, too gregarious, too ambitious, too wonderful and brilliant and hilarious and spunky and passionate-

 _ **Oh.**_

Yugi booked a flight as soon as he got home. Grandpa didn't seem surprised at all to see the frantic tossing of muscle tees, leather pants, and various buckle-themed accessories an hour later. In fact, the old man seemed curiously amused by the rate Yugi filled up the suddenly clean suitcases (that, curiously, before the kids left for the airport this morning with Anzu, used to be in attic, right under eight boxes of holiday decorations and Grandma's trunk of prized vintage doilies). Yugi distinctly thought some chuckles reverberating through the shop, but those must have been adrenaline-induced hallucinations because the only other time Grandpa had been so amused was when Yami accidentally wrapped Kaiba's precious blue-eyes themed Christmas tree in purple instead of silver lights.

And so he journeyed again, through metal detectors at Domino airport, through the double-doors into the chilly New York air, and he landed, at last-

-at _home_ -

Where Anzu was waiting, when he finally worked up enough courage to walk into the dance studio, with another kiss and a pair of dueling gloves wrapped in a shiny purple bow-

 _His_ favorite.

...

Please review?


	9. Blue

**Blue**

 **Disclaimer** : YGO isn't mine. This is a piece of fanfiction. (Part of a mini set of 3, actually, and I'm betting you guys can guess what the other two will be called, too, since sappy seems to be a _thing_ at the moment.)

 **Inspiration** : Iris Ukiyoe by Hermes, New York City by The Chainsmokers, and photos of rain drizzling on yellow taxis and sidewalks. Not mine, either.

...

A fine mist of water blanketed Anzu's hair as she wandered. Aimless. Through the still crowded streets of this adopted hometown at 2 a.m. Hollywood wasn't kidding about the city that never sleeps. Everywhere eyes wandered bodies milled about in various positions. Some eating, some laughing, some strolling, _all_ doing something as if the world simply stretched on and on regardless of what happened to everyone else. The city seemed to have a pulse of its own, a never-ending one that continued when the crowd grew and thinned around her.

(Funny how alone she felt when surrounded by more people than she had ever seen.)

The faint hum of voices and taxis circled every room, street, and corner like a incessant lullaby.

Except Anzu couldn't sleep.

The time difference wasn't nearly as difficult as she pretended to everyone at home. Mai and Serenity insisted on staying up at night with various "emergencies" when Anzu first arrived. Joey and Tristan took over the shift not long after with various other "emergencies" that inexplicably kept them from work and school. Yugi dispensed with the pretense altogether and stayed up all night running up Grandpa's long-distance telephone bill with various stories about Kaiba's antics and Duke's new Dungeon Dice Monsters tournament.

No one mentioned _him_ , which was just as well because she thought about him as often as the people around her seemed to breathe. Except no one thought about breathing. That was something they all did naturally, as naturally as changing trains at Broadway or side-stepping puddles or simply _being_ , as if it was the most natural thing in the world to continue laughing and savoring and giggling even as the world collapsed around someone else.

To Anzu, breathing was as natural as _feeling,_ not that anyone around her ever noticed.

There was a pulse to the pain, too. In the mornings, there would be a brief respite of silence, mainly because her fogged-up brain hadn't yet processed it was another day without _him...yet_. Even saying his name was difficult, so she avoided it like she did the inexhaustible gossip of four well-meaning roommates, who thought Anzu couldn't understand their pitying looks- poor girl, those seemed to say, we must help her survive in this new world- but Anzu knew that it was just about survival and not about living, at least not while it was light outside and she could still see, sometimes, the specks of boats in the Hudson that reminded her so much of _him_. Days weren't as bad as mornings because there were things to do. Classes to audit. Practices to attend. Rehearsals to complete. Meals to eat, mechanically and without tasting. Once she accidentally swallowed an entire cube of wasabi without realizing until all five roommates and their boyfriends stared in amazement- this time their gazes were envious- no one else in their class could eat so much as a single spiced ginger without tearing up and here was the new girl, pounding back entire packages of wasabi without so much as a second cup of water.

Anzu barely noticed.

It wasn't as if anything had a flavor, anyway.

Nights were difficult. During the day she could fill time with as many obligations as possible but, when everything was checked off the to-do list at night, there wasn't much to do except to grieve. The other dancers thought she was homesick. Perhaps Anzu was, in away, though it wasn't the kind of homesickness that they referred to, with exotic dishes like po' boys and pecan pie and other delicacies Anzu eyed with as much suspicion as the fried cicadas a street vendor once offered on a Popsicle stick.

Somehow, Domino no longer felt like home.

Since Egypt, sand felt like home. Golden, glittering, grain after grain of beautiful eternity. Blue and navy felt like home, too, the calming rhythm of waves caressing the wooden sides of a boat as she swayed to music no one else could hear. Purple and amethyst had always _been_ home, even as a child with finger paints- there was something comforting and regal about that rush of colors that only grew more and more insistent now.

Sometimes she saw pieces, too, little bits of images from before, of memories that she was sure was hers but yet weren't, vignettes of silks and chiffons twirling to the beat of drums and harps punctuated by the happy, bellowing laugh of someone who loved purple, too. Sometimes she saw flashes of that time from the corner of her eye, too, but those always turned out to be well-meaning tourists with fanny packs or confused natives who didn't appreciate being jostled by wide-eyed dancers in legwarmers and faded chambray spotted with mist.

The rain beat on as Anzu wandered.

 _Every corner brought them closer, right?_

...

Please review?


	10. Silences

**Silences**

 **Disclaimer** : YGO isn't mine. This is a work of fanfiction, part two of a mini triptych, sap, sappy, and sap-tastic all the way through.

 **Inspiration** : Epice Marine by Hermes, Lay It All on Me by Rudimental featuring Ed Sheeran, and photos of tiny paper boats dotting rivers during the Bon Festival (which, according to the Internet, is a ceremony where lanterns are lit and floated down rivers in remembrance of the dead). Obviously none of these are mine.

...

There was a comfort to silence, Yugi thought as he cradled the game shop's only working phone. Of all the kinds of silences in the world- the awkward, the forced, and the uncomfortable- he preferred the unique experience that was silences with Anzu, which were none of those things. Silences with her were comfortable, like a warm cup of coffee on a chilly morning or a soft, well-worn leather dueling glove or a transatlantic mingling of breaths. Just the thought of Anzu on the other side of the line, probably with her hair askew and a giant mug of tea in one hand and a book in the other, made him smile. The clattering of car horns outside faded until all he could hear was the steady inhale and exhale of air echoing the beat of his heart.

They could have been talking, of course, but they didn't have to say anything. There wasn't a need, not with Anzu, to fill the empty space in between with meaningless platitudes about the weather and shared grievances about traffic. Silences with Anzu simply _were_ in a way that belied their simplicity. No _need_ to break, drown, fill, or stuff and stuff with words or phrases or meanings melting together like tanning jelly beans. With Anzu, there was simply a need to experience, to enjoy, to _be_ in that moment.

Silences with Anzu were different from silences with strangers, which often devolved into viscous mudslides that slogged and squished as stilted conversations attempted and failed to patch up something that needed more than awkward coughs and strained smiles. They were different from silences with close friends, too, in ways that Yugi didn't _quite_ have all the words to explain. It was just that Joey liked to crack various jokes: some funny, most not, all of which made Serenity and Mai groan. Duke liked to natter about the latest trends in technology and dungeon dice to Tristan, who preferred staring blankly into the distance over mock civility. Kaiba dispensed with that altogether and simply sat, arms folded, scowl deepening, as if a disapproving statue while Mokuba passed around snacks and hugs. Those silences were somehow familiar yet uncomfortable, like a chipped mug that only functioned sporadically, when then moon was blue or when it wasn't raining on the day of the Bon Festival.

Yet with Anzu, silence was just silence, all the time, a comfortable state of being where neither felt the need or urge to break their shared ruminations. Yugi supposed they fell into this shared state of being by accident. Or maybe by design. Or perhaps fate. Or, perchance, just the convenience of two hearts finding each other and never letting go. Yugi wasn't sure which of which but that didn't matter in the slightest. Once they had been three (well, two and half, seeing as how the exact status of ghost and spirit hybrids was up in the air), but now there were two with shared silences even more precious than before.

He had taken Anzu and only Anzu to light the first delicate white paper lanterns on festival day. It felt _right_ to share that with her. Not it didn't feel right to share with the others; just that it felt _more_ right, somehow, to go with Anzu first and watch the tiny little boat float reverently downstream before joining the others in lighting a bigger one. A shared remembrance, perhaps, of times past, perhaps eras or lifetimes ago, with someone they both loved with a somber kind of dedication. They had watched the light disappear into the horizon together, neither saying a word, and, somewhere in the dark, their hands found each other and never let go.

The following weeks were quiet, too, draped in a moody kind of silence that came from having too much to say and not enough to time to say all at once. Egypt had been illuminating for them both, if laced with similar feelings of loss and pain. Yugi had shared who he was with someone else for so long that it was hard to separate where he began and where Atem ended. Like sharing a soul-mate without the romance, or a sensei who lived many, many lives before this one trying to impart as much knowledge as possible on a chosen student before having to leave again for another lifetime of adventures.

In a way, Yugi had always known that Atem's presence was temporary, even before Egypt, yet none of his internal monologuing about the inevitability _of_ Egypt made the trip or its aftermath any easier. It had been harder than Yugi admitted to everyone except Anzu to _let go_ \- whoever that termed it letting go was obviously not bereft at the time, because the feeling was more like ripping yourself open and hemorrhaging _feelings_ over every available surface. Not at all like the peaceful acceptance that "letting go" implied, as if one were setting off doves into green pastures or children into the candy store. _**No**. It was more like watching yourself bleed emotions you promised to keep inside but just couldn't._ For minutes, perhaps even hours, Yugi considered _not_ opening the little golden box emblazoned with the Eye of Horus- who would know that it wasn't Atem who was destined to win, anyways? And more importantly, who would care as long as Atem would get to stay a little while longer in something that wasn't a memory or a dream?

Anzu's silence convinced Yugi to open the box. She had cheered equally hard for them both that day, a little harder, perhaps, for Yugi, because he had spent much of the duel seemingly behind, but Yugi didn't mind her relative reticence because he had known how much she loved them both. Equally, perhaps, yet he knew just as Atem knew that no one would ever replace Atem. That didn't stop Anzu from cheering for Yugi, though. She always did the right thing, even if it meant hurting herself.

It wouldn't have been _right_ for her to keep Atem here, however much she and Yugi both wanted to. Atem deserved better. A real home, with his people, one that had been denied to him for so long. He had sacrificed everything for them, and he deserved them as much as they deserved him. That was home for Atem, not that it made it any easier to say good-bye. That's why Anzu had been silent before the duel, because it was the right thing to let Atem go, not because she didn't desperately want to ask him to stay, but because there could only be one Yugi and one Atem, neither in the same plane, at least for a little while long...

Anzu had known, perhaps even before Yugi knew, that there would be a beauty to the silence that Atem left behind. Yugi's thoughts were all his now. No spirit guide to share with, no longer a world to save, either. All that remained was the comfort of being at peace with himself, at peace with all they accomplished together.

And so Yugi sat, cradling the tiny blue GameStop phone, sharing the silence with Anzu, and he felt her smile when he did. It didn't feel _completely_ right just yet, to break the silence, but, one day it would, and when that day came, they would share it together like they did this and everything thereafter.

...

Please review?


	11. Destiny

**Destiny**

 **Disclaimer** : I Do not own YGO. This is a work of fanfiction, the last of a mini set of three, quite possibly the sappiest of the bunch.

 **Inspiration** : Cuir de Ange by Hermes, Kygo and Ella Henderson's gorgeous cover of Taylor Swift's Wildest Dreams, photos of cotton candy sunrises on the Nile. Not mine.

...

Atem stood at the center of the reed boat, one of Yugi's steely black boot pointing towards the hull and one pointing towards the sunset in the distance. He (they?) seemed unsure of which direction to go. _Relatively_ unsure, that is. Destiny chose already, but, then, _Destiny_ hardly weighed emotions the way people do. Tomorrow would take had already been preordained. Millennia ago, sealed, written, and bound without so much a speck of what happened during the years until now. He had known since Battle City their destination was the pyramids illuminated by streaks of crimson and gold in the Valley of Kings. What had been unknown until a mere hour ago was how he would feel looking at a figure, tall, lithe, and graceful, illuminated by streaks of tears and framed by the setting sun. _Anzu_. _In pain_. Because of _him_.

If Atem could have made Yugi's mouth move, it would be in an inhuman sort of howl, a shrill shriek of rage followed by loss mingled with grief.

Hunched over, Anzu seemed oblivious to Atem and, indeed, everything else. She seemed to fade like the pyramids in the distance, a small figure shuffling from cloud to cloud where the sun and desert melted as one. Her profile shook as the river streaked by. The shuddering movements were all wrong- sporadic and unrefined bursts of raw emotion roaring and fading. Anzu was crying and, from the white-knuckled way she was clinging to the rail, had been so for some time. Atem didn't know if he should intrude upon what was obviously a private movement of grief.

Not for the first time, he wondered if he should go to her.

Throughout the trip she had been peppier than usual (to Seto's infinite chagrin); a feigned kind of cheeriness that fooled everyone except Atem. The happy-go-lucky demeanor was for other people's benefit, especially Yugi's. Aibou seemed uncharacteristically oblivious, too, though even Yugi was hiding under a mask of sanguine cheer to utter pointlessness due to their bond, not that it stopped Yugi from trying. Likewise, Atem caught the undertones of grief when she thought no one was looking, either. It was the way she always smiled just a little too wide when violet met blue. "I'm fine," she cut him off with a quick, strained giggle each time he started to question. "You just worry about Yugi, Pharaoh."

 _Yugi._

Funny how she was more worried about aibou's reaction to his imminent departure on aibou as opposed to her own. But, then again, Atem suspected she felt very much alone in her grief, which manifested itself in this insistent, sustained sobbing long after everyone else retired to practice duels and, in Duke's case, dice monsters demos. Anzu hated crying in front of other people, Atem most of all. Anything that gave the faintest impression that she didn't want the best for everyone else was summarily squashed and filed away for moments like this, reserved for when she alone and out of sight. Three days ago she held Yugi until _he_ cried himself into heaves of dry air at the prospect of losing aibou, never letting the slightest hint escape about how much she would miss Atem, too.

But this was three days later and there was no one to hold her.

Not that she expected anyone, which only intensified Atem's struggle. She obviously did not want to be disturbed, as everyone was already in bed. The girl was all backbone even in grief, wrapped in some gauzy linen outfit that more than vaguely resembled a mourning shroud. Traditional Egyptian weaving passed down from generations of tomb-keepers, Ishizu had explained as she dressed the younger brunette, naturally flow-y and thus more suited for the boiling sun above above than Anzu's usual cotton shorts and platform boots. _How appropriate_ , Anzu murmured in response, and Atem suspected she was referring more to the shape of the dress than its cooling properties, which were lacking, considering the ample rivulets of sweat and tears pouring down her face now.

Atem was three steps towards the hull before he stopped. _What am I doing, exactly?_

He had _known_ Anzu hadn't been looking for motion sickness medicine when she "accidentally" swung by the cabin as he and Yugi were preparing their decks this morning. They memorized her like a favorite song already by collecting various useless and inane details, like the way she always ate fortune cookies before reading the tiny slips of paper inside (for luck, apparently) and how she had been a champion swimmer since she was five (also for luck, apparently). Atem doubted the girl who won impromptu, Olympic-esque races against Joey five miles out of Domino Pier and won suffered from anything remotely close to motion sickness, but, then again, there was no need for Yugi to disappear into the Puzzle to shuffle his deck for the eightieth time as as soon as Anzu showed up, either.

 _"Hi."_ Her eyes had been slightly puffy, but her voice was steady. "I...um...I just wanted wish you good luck for tomorrow. Both of you."

"Thank you." Atem tried to imbue the statement with as many meanings as possible. Thank you for being my friend, thank you for being Yugi's friend, and thank you for just for being _you_. He had been waiting for a moment like this since Battle City, a moment alone, without Yugi, to tell her how much she meant to him. To tell her how much he appreciated her belief in him, even while Yugi was gone, and to tell her how much he will miss her. All that and more fluttered died in strangled whispers as soon as she reached forward and hugged him in a snapping motion, as if afraid he would suddenly vanish without her arms to anchor him. Atem thought her shoulders shook a little, too, but that little bit of hesitation disappeared as soon as she let him go and brushed the sudden wetness off Yugi's shirt.

"Anyways, I...I'll mi- I mean, I m...may have to go help Ishizu with...um...something...before the duel, but I'll...umm...still be there, ok?"

And with a lopsided smile she was gone, vanishing even as the cabin door slammed in Atem's face, _gone_ and sprinting down the starboard side before Atem could even will his limbs to respond. He had followed, of course, but now that he found her he wasn't sure what to say. Or _do_. Nothing he thought of seemed sufficient and Yugi was shuffling his deck so hard the echo of cards slapping against cards reverberated in an anguished howl. What exactly could Atem say, anyways? _I'm leaving. I'm sorry. I love you. I'm still leaving. I'm very, very sorry for hurting you? I love you and wouldn't ever hurt-_

With that, Atem's heart twisted. Perhaps he could go to her. Comfort her, even. Lose tomorrow. Wrangle a draw. ( _Surely destiny wasn't that cruel?)_ Or he could _not_ got to her. Go now...Go tomorrow. Not go anywhere at all. All thoughts tumbled and jumbled. He really didn't know which were his and which were Yugi's, anymore. Slowly, the sun sank into the horizon and the shadows and evening chill climbed onboard. Anzu shuddered from the evening chill, dress flapping, but didn't go back inside, either. She had stopped crying and was now staring forlornly ahead, eyes fixed and posture stiff. Most likely she heard the shuffling of indecisive boots and knew he was there, but she didn't turn around, either, lest she intrude upon _his_ grief.

Atem sighed.

And then he moved, not towards Anzu as he so desperately wanted, but backwards, towards their cabin, where he spent much too long slamming his cards until they, too, snapped and echoed hollowly in the empty chamber.

...

Please review?


	12. Anchor

**Anchor**

 **Disclaimer** : I do not own YGO. This is a work of fanfiction.

 **Inspiration** : Muguet Porcelaine by Hermes, photos of hats flying in the air at commencement ceremonies, and Anchor by Sophia Black. I do not own any of these.

...

He watches her move, entranced, long brunette hair swishing to an invisible beat, lithe figure twirling around the kitchen. Everything was a dance. The laundry, the dishes, the vacuuming. Even grocery shopping- a waltz of aisles, coupons, and carts. Of course the fridge was usually empty, but the lack of money didn't keep Anzu from scraping together delicious meals out of strange and improbable combinations of ramen and tuna.

Compared to the epic-ness that was SAVING THE WORLD via a children card game, adulthood seemed oddly mundane, if a little repetitive with its constant stream of bills and errands. The heat was almost always in danger of being turned off, the linens almost always worn to single layers of thread, and the to-do list a constant duel of necessary and even more necessary. More than once Grandpa had offered (more like forcefully demanded) that they take some of the profits from the game shop to purchase real food, not to mention decent furniture; Yugi insisted mention they liked the mismatched chair and table set they found for a few dollars at a neighborhood garage sale. Neon pink and purple gingham would be ludicrous in any other setting, but, somehow, the clashing colors fit perfectly in the faded tweed sofa Anzu decorated with various hand-me-down cushions.

"It's shabby chic," Anzu explained with a smile to Mr. and Mrs. Mazaki as well as Grandpa during their first visit to the city. "Environmentally friendly, too."

Mr. Gardner managed a somewhat polite nod as his eyebrows attempted to climb the wobbly fire escape to the roof. Like most fathers, he did not approve of his only daughter "getting by" in a generously sized closet in the middle of a foreign city with little more than a dream and a very limited budget. He had always thought- perhaps rightly- that she would have had a comparably roomier and therefore easier life in Domino, perhaps dancing for one of the local companies or opening a studio of her own. Unlike Mrs. Gardner, Mr. Gardner found the lights of this strange new city dizzying and exotic and _far_ too removed from the tree-lined streets of home, especially after several years spent traversing the globe. Egypt and California were all well and good; home was the best of all, right?

Mrs. Gardner, on the other hand, understood the allure of making it in the big city. There was nothing quite weaving through the throng of neon yellow cabs, though she did have some valid concerns about the cookware in the child-sized kitchen. Reality was of course disappointing compared to the glitzy shine of dreams, but skillets that imbued food with a sickly green cast was downright dangerous.

 _Oops_ , Anzu giggled. _That's next on the to-buy list, after a new space heater._

At that, Grandpa laughed, too, a strange sound rumbling deep in his chest and expanding across the doll-sized living room, when he and both Gardners happened to visit during the same weekend _._ Mysteriously, the stove had new coils the next day, and the broken screens on the only window in the living room was replaced, too. Mr. Gardner took to repairing various cracks and dents for the rest of their trip, and Mrs. Gardner left at least a month's worth of pre-cooked meals that had the refrigerator and pantry shelves tumbling in protest. Grandpa dusted, swept, and dusted again, humming to a cheery little tune that Anzu choreographed while setting the table and folding the laundry.

That was the most beautiful sound Yugi had ever heard.

He had expected growing up to be hard. Difficult, even, compared to the carefree mindlessness of youth. He had planned and strategized for every eventuality, just like he used to with cards. Avoid the trap of not buying overpriced food here, setting aside reserve cards for the impending winter, lining up errands _just_ right to save time and subway fares, etc. etc. All in a day's work for someone who anticipated and plotted against the most devious enemy of all: randomness.

There was the time the bus driver decided to get out in the middle of a crowded street and yell at out-of-town pedestrians for crossing the wrong way, for example, something that resulted in an almost comical escalation of gestures and shouts. Or the time the corner grocer just happened to have the last issue of _Cards Weekly_ in stock for his birthday. The good, the bad, and the just plain weird coalesced in this new city, and, for Yugi, keeping up with the changes was almost as exhausting as trying to predict someone's next card.

The only easy thing, Yugi reflected, was just how easy it was to fall and stay in love. Almost like breathing, and just as instinctive. Perhaps he had always been in love, the kind of feeling that made him feel as if he could save the world with just his conviction and a pack of paper printed with some awesome pictures. By all accounts he and his friends should have had a much harder time getting through progressively more demented (power hungry, too, come to think of it) individuals, yet they had persevered, prospered, even, thriving with each challenge. Duelist Kingdom, Battle City, the Monster Realm, and finally Egypt. Each with its own lessons, each with its own place in his heart.

None that could rival the place Anzu held, of course. She was the reason he felt comfortable in this new land with strange customs and even stranger sayings, a solid shape in an otherwise ephemeral place, one that remained constant even as the world shifted and changed. She held on to him as he held on to her and they danced, together, through dreams.

And _that_ was the best thing about growing up- doing so together.

...

This concludes the _Mirrors_ universe. As promised, bonus fic _Flames_ is posted separately due to language, drinking, and themes.

This also concludes my writings for Yu-Gi-Oh fandom. I grown much as a writer and as a person since I first started writing almost two years ago, and I hope that you have enjoyed the journey as much as I have.

Unedited drafts of my unfinished YGO stories- _Calamus, Sentimental Notes_ , and _Trials_ have been posted. I am a sporadic writer- stories always come to me in bits and pieces, and sometimes only in beginnings or endings,- so you can take the drafts for what they are- unfinished stories, or the new beginnings of new endings.

The stories belong to you now.


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